What a terrific day we've had! We are completely exhausted. The house is a wreck inside because no one has been around to maintain it. And my back muscles are killing me.
Like I said: terrific.
This morning, we helped our neighbors move. We're bummed that they are leaving, but happy for them as they've left this rental behind and bought a home a mile up the road. This is the neighbor I asked you to pray for months ago (when we met at the Big "C"). She's a cancer champion, but is still reeling from the side effects of treatment and though various surgeries to help the problems have gone well, she is still walking around in chronic and exhausting pain.
As if moving weren't painful enough. . .
All of which is to say that it's fun to help friends. It's fun to see how many hands make light work. But it's even more fun when one of those friends really shouldn't be going up and down the stairs herself too many times and you know that making those trips for her is a very helpful thing.
And, yeah boy: There were many stairs involved.
As I went up and down and up and down and up and down, breathing as required, heart rate elevated, and yet smiling the whole time because it felt good, I realized that the most fun thing about helping friends move is that I'm healthy enough to do it!
Will I ever get used to this? The feeling of good physical health? I hope not. I hope I'll always remember to count it as a principle blessing.
Speaking of other principle blessings:
This afternoon, Gemma and I went to a Feed My Starving Children event.
It was about what that title would prompt you to expect. The organization itself is located in Minnesota, where they have permanent packing facilities. People elsewhere in the country learn about it and set up a local event that FMSC sends staff members and supplies to operate.
It's an amazing Organization. In part because they have amazing organization. . . Each meal costs 19 cents, and every last one of them is packed by a volunteer. This year, they are on target to ship 90 million meals to starving children, and the distribution is through other ministry organizations that know how to navigate a foreign country's customs and actually get the food to a hungry child.
And, wherever they go, they go with a plan to be able to continue to feed the children they reach throughout their childhood as the partnering ministry provides basic education and vocational training.
Wow. I just love that this organization exists!
When I heard about it, I asked Gemma if she'd like to go to a packing session with me. (Joshua is a year too young. . .) She was all for it. When I told her that they ask volunteers to pay $39 each to cover the cost of the food they will pack during their two hour shift, she counted up her own money, saw that she was four dollars short, and asked Daddy if she could move some bricks in the backyard to earn the difference!
Sure enough, at the check in table, she unwadded her stash and counted out--bills and change together--her whole portion.
It made me cry.
There were about 75 volunteers at our shift and the logistics of the brief training and packing process were systems of beauty. They demonstrated the 8 steps that go into packing one meal, and then the job of boxing them. They'd set up a room of 8 different packing stations, where two assembly lines fed into one boxing spot. Your job pretty much was to pay quiet attention during the mini training, find a job of those they just explained, and then get to work.
(There was a company of Air Force Academy cadets there, in their PT uniforms. The staff member said, "We need 8 volunteers to be the 'warehouse' workers who load the palettes. You have to be able to lift a 60 lb box and you have to be wearing close-toed shoes." Every head turned to look at the cadets. Who then raised their hands. . .)
We all went to work. Gemma and I worked to seal each meal. And for 90 minutes, that's all I cared about doing. Getting those bags sealed. Staying ahead of the line of bags coming up behind us. There was no changing jobs once we started. No "trying something different." You figured out how to do your job efficiently and then you did it. This might be as close as I ever get to factory work.
As for Gemma. It was interesting: I held the plastic bag tight and slipped it into the heat crimper. Gemma pulled down and then let up after a few seconds. The heated irons melted the plastic into an air tight seal. She didn't complain about the monotony or ask to do a different job. But after about 45 minutes, she said her stomach was really hurting.
It turned out she'd been using her core ab muscles to press down and she actually got sore from it! So she took a few breaks throughout, which was OK because it was kind of a one-person job. . .
During our shift, we packed 22,000 meals, which is enough to feed 60 children for a whole year. The event here began on Friday and ended today. During that time, we packed 370,000 meals that, in this case, will be shipped to El Salvadore with an organization called Convoy of Hope. This is enough to feed over a thousand children for a year.
Many hands make light work. And there's something about being one ant in an army of thousands that feels better than I've felt during any moment of standing out.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Camping
[Note: I started this post back in June, and was going to add to it following the camping trip we were supposed to take this weekend. Then Gemma threw up on Thursday morning and on into the afternoon and on into the night. So we cancelled the trip. She woke up feeling all better. No one else caught her bug. And I am left without anything to add from a late-summer camping trip.]
Back in the day, Dad and his best friend, Mr. Thallemer, would take their kids camping in Wisconsin every summer. There were a few iron clad rules for these trips that Dad never called "rules." Yet, every summer, this is how things happened:
2. We camped in Wisconsin. Usually Devil's Lake. But only in Wisconsin.
3. We left on a Tuesday morning and broke camp to come home on Thursday morning. I'm not sure why we only camped mid-week, but it almost certainly had something to do with a) avoiding traffic and b) avoiding crowds.
4. Wives/Moms were neither invited nor permitted to come. If I had been the wife/Mom in question, this would have suited me just fine and I'd have looked forward to those 3 days and 2 nights as the best mid-week of the year. But I learned later that the actual wife/Mom in question of our family did not like "rule" #4. So she claims. I don't really believe her.
5. We used a tent. I don't remember the idea of using a pop-up or camper even being considered.
Dad had a vast 7-sleeper that he'd bought on sale as a floor model from Sears years before I was born. Compared to anything you'd find today at Sportsman's Warehouse, it was Old School. Heavy steele poles. Metal stakes, not plastic. No rain fly to speak of. And it was, of course, made out of canvass.
This was charming in some ways. Canvass is quaint. But it was also bad news for whomever was sleeping on the ends of the bag line-up, because those people invariably rolled against the tent at night, and touching canvass with body heat makes the canvass expand, so any, say, rain, from a humid summer night in Wisconsin would soak right through.
This tent was red, white and blue. We called it "Old Glory," as in, upon coming back to the sight after swimming at the lake: "There's Old Glory. . ."
6. The two Dads did not care about the nutritional value of the trip. We would grocery shop at a Piggly Wiggly right before checking into the camp ground, and we would generally buy the same stuff every year: Jarred pasta sauce, pasta, individual boxes of cereal, hot dogs, peanut butter, bread, marshmallows, generic brand cans of soda and, of course--
7. BEER.
That night, having just changed his diaper, I sat down to watch our two children, now hopped up on sugar from the s'mores, goofing around perilously close to the flames. Joshua's marshmallow caught on fire, and instead of blowing it out as all campers know to do, he started waving it around like a caveman with his first torch ablaze. Bryan disarmed Joshua just before he made contact with our (flammable) tent and I thought, for the first time in my life, "Why do people camp?"
We decided after that trip to wait until the next summer before trying again. Then the whole cancer thing was a very handy excuse to put it off another year. Then, this June, it was time for another attempt.
We went with 3 other families we are good friends with. In all, there were 11 children that weekend, ages 3 through 12--and the older kids are all so terrific with the little ones. They run together like a very harmonious and responsible pack of wolves. Our camp sites were all together, in a secluded cul-de-sac on the edge of the State grounds. We felt like we had the forest to ourselves.
These families all came with camper trailers. And while our kids were pretty impressed at the little houses-on-wheels, they also really liked sleeping in a tent.
From the moment the kids hopped out of the car, they were in the woods. There was a nice playground with modern equipment up the road from our site, but the kids had no interest in it. What is a jungle gym compared to a forest?
Gemma, Josh and Bryan were part of the expedition that hiked 1.5 miles uphill to a lake for fishing. (And then 1.5 miles back, and both kids walked the whole way!) I remained behind to enjoy the solitude. Upon their return, Joshua announced to me that he had caught 2 fish. The first wasn't big enough to keep. The second one escaped while Jimmy, one of the Dads, was cleaning it.
Joshua's explanation of this second one: "He ran away while he was getting a bath."
We had great fires. Great worship (one of the Dads brought his guitar) and great conversation.
Not great toilets. Not great sleeping. But a great time, yes.
During those few hours to myself, I considered potential rules as measured against the old:
1. A kids needs to be out of diapers, but age 6 is not necessary.
2. Colorado was a lot better for camping than Wisconsin because we have no insects or humidity to contend with. But I am open to camping all over the West.
3. The days we camp don't matter so long as we can avoid traffic wherever we are headed, as we were able to do this weekend. But as we wouldn't be able to do if we ever tried to use I-70 (and have to go through Denver) on a Friday.
4. Wives/Moms definitely welcome. Though I fully support Bryan if he ever announces he wants to leave me home alone.
5. We are tent campers through and through. I looked over at our nylon tent and noticed for the first time that it, too, is red, white and blue. It's our new Old Glory!
6. Nutritional value of the trip? I gotta say, I packed fruit and veggies and good protein and dairy not for the sake of nutrition itself, but because a crummy diet puts my kids in a crummy mood. They behave a lot better when they eat well.
7. Beer? I laughed as I thought back to the camping trips of my youth. And then realized--I'm not making this up--that I was sitting there in Meuller State Park at site #116.
Why do people camp? It's something different. A change of pace. A simpler life for a few days. A chance to be a step or two closer to nature, and to enjoy seeing your kids get lost in it.
Maybe, above all, there's the realization that if you can make your home in the middle of a forest with a couple poles and some nylon and a few bags of groceries, then everything you've left behind could burn up and you'd still be sitting around the campfire with your husband and kids and know that what you value most is next to you and ready to cuddle into a 4-sleeper against the cold, inky darkness of a Colorado night.
Monday, August 9, 2010
B, G and J Day: Spotlight on Joshua
I missed my deadline! Sorry, sorry.
Sister #2, brother-in-law #1 and their 3 terrific boys were visiting this week and we were having too much fun for me to get online much.
***
B: He's adjusted just fine to civilian life. He likes dressing up in a suit and tie each morning and has come upon the reputation of "Best Dressed" in his office. I don't think he has to dress that formally. But he likes to be dapper.
Last night at dinner, Joshua announced that he was done with the food in front of him and then said, "I'd like some pie!"
Without skipping a beat, Daddy said, "You can have some pie-napple. . ."
***
G: She was old enough to go on the white water rafting trip with our guests and Bryan. (Joshua had to stay home with Mommy. . .) She sat in the front row during the lulls, and in the middle during the rapids. Sister #2 bought the CD of photos that the rafting company takes of the trip and in all 10 of them, Gemma's face is a mouth-open, eyes-bright, smile-huge portrait of exhilaration.
I wouldn't have guessed that she'd be a thrill-seeker. But there you have it.
***
J: I think I have a lot to tell you about him because he's in that magical stage of having acquired language in a level that finally gives expression to everything in his head.
For instance:
He was packing stuffed animals to take on one of our many trips this summer and had chosen, of course, Doggers and then the Moose that heretofore has only been "The Moose."
I asked what that one was called and Gemma piped in with a somewhat predictable, "Moosey." Josh's eyes darted to her, he scowled as if she didn't know anything and then announced, "No. He's Mooster-Head."
Last Spring, he'd had a stuffed puppy on the airplane when a passenger asked its name and Josh said, "This is Cutey-Cute." Right on the spot.
I thought it was fleeting, that a name like that would not stick. But all these months later, Josh is still walking around with Doggers, Mooster-Head and Cutey-Cute.
***
Speaking of our day together while the others rafted: I had played it up as Josh and Mommy's Special Day together and was prepared to lay on a thick supply of bribes to make it worth his while.
We did eat at IHOP for breakfast, which was a treat. And I did buy him his little birthday present at the teacher supply and awesome toy store, where I had to go anyway to get Gemma's handwriting book.
But after that, we came home and went downstairs to play and he was simply thrilled to have my attention for several hours. (He told me I couldn't do any laundry. Ha! If it's one thing that doesn't distract my attention from him, it's laundry. . . Clearly, he meant, "Don't work. Just play with me.")
It's like this for the kids who aren't born first, I think. With Gemma, there was no point in trying to do much else while she was awake because she had no distraction. But Joshua has always had a Gemma around to play with him.
I don't regret this. Who am I to argue with the physics of Birth Order? But I took this day together as God's reminder to me not to miss out on him. Gemma will go to a home school enrichment program every Tuesday for a full day of school, and instead of trying to knock out errands that day with Joshua in tow, I now think that we'll have a day together each week to enjoy.
It was especially fun to see him play for nearly 2 hours with a single toy--those plastic stacking pegs and rubbery-mats with peg holes in them. He has a great imagination that I hadn't noticed before.
***
Bryan had another load of bricks to move, and he offered Gemma $1 for every 10 small ones and $1 for every 6 big ones she carried.
Josh piped in, "For me, it's 1 for 5 small ones and 1 for every 2 big ones because I'm little."
Bryan and I both swiveled our heads towards him. Joshua The Negotiator.
***
Josh is into hugs. He is a very cuddly boy. A few weeks ago, he said, "I'm going to give you the biggest hug," and then he latched on.
He squeezed and squeezed and squeezed, the whole time saying, "Bigger than a house, bigger than a rocket, bigger than an elephant, bigger than the moon. . ."
Finally, he broke it off. Stepped back. Then spread his arms out in a ta-daa kind of pose and shouted, "That's the biggest hug!!!!"
***
While at the Burches for an overnight, he kept making mischief via the annoy-Gemma mode. (He has several modes of mischief-making. . . )
Amy, who was watching them, kept putting him into Time Out. After the third offense, she asked him, "Why do you keep being naughty after I have to put you into Time Out?"
He shrugged and said, 'I didn't make any promises.'
***
I started the summer off by giving a swim and diving report.
Both kids are now swimmers. Gemma is approaching what looks like the real free style. (Her arms have to get a bigger stroke...)
(What's that? How is my swimming coming? I can go from here to there with a flip turn without stopping. That's 50 yards, baby. I'm looking around for a good Fall-Winter swimming situation for the kids because Gemma wants to keep doing lessons and I figure I could swim while they did theirs.
One thing is for certain: I'll never be able to do 75 and then 100 and then 150 yards without actually being in the pool. There is no training like swimming training. And it's the best exercise I can do to rebuild my lung capacity, which was damaged by the radiation, so I'm especially motivated to get something set up. . .)
Joshua is a proficient doggy paddler, belly glider (e.g. face in the water, kicks his way to where he's headed) and back floater.
He is allowed to go off the diving board if I'm standing on the side to watch him. And by this point, he just walks right off the plank without hesitation.
The other day, he got the edge, stopped with his toes hanging over, tilted his head back and flipped his goggle up to peer over at me. Then he snapped the goggle back down and jumped off.
As he came up the ladder, he said, 'Did you see that? That was my Looking Dive.'
On the next one, he wiggled his arms around and then jumped. His Juggle Dive.
On the next one, he flapped his arms like a bird and then jumped. His Wing Dive.
In general, I was thinking that all of these were My Awesome Kid Dives.
Sister #2, brother-in-law #1 and their 3 terrific boys were visiting this week and we were having too much fun for me to get online much.
***
B: He's adjusted just fine to civilian life. He likes dressing up in a suit and tie each morning and has come upon the reputation of "Best Dressed" in his office. I don't think he has to dress that formally. But he likes to be dapper.
Last night at dinner, Joshua announced that he was done with the food in front of him and then said, "I'd like some pie!"
Without skipping a beat, Daddy said, "You can have some pie-napple. . ."
***
G: She was old enough to go on the white water rafting trip with our guests and Bryan. (Joshua had to stay home with Mommy. . .) She sat in the front row during the lulls, and in the middle during the rapids. Sister #2 bought the CD of photos that the rafting company takes of the trip and in all 10 of them, Gemma's face is a mouth-open, eyes-bright, smile-huge portrait of exhilaration.
I wouldn't have guessed that she'd be a thrill-seeker. But there you have it.
***
J: I think I have a lot to tell you about him because he's in that magical stage of having acquired language in a level that finally gives expression to everything in his head.
For instance:
He was packing stuffed animals to take on one of our many trips this summer and had chosen, of course, Doggers and then the Moose that heretofore has only been "The Moose."
I asked what that one was called and Gemma piped in with a somewhat predictable, "Moosey." Josh's eyes darted to her, he scowled as if she didn't know anything and then announced, "No. He's Mooster-Head."
Last Spring, he'd had a stuffed puppy on the airplane when a passenger asked its name and Josh said, "This is Cutey-Cute." Right on the spot.
I thought it was fleeting, that a name like that would not stick. But all these months later, Josh is still walking around with Doggers, Mooster-Head and Cutey-Cute.
***
Speaking of our day together while the others rafted: I had played it up as Josh and Mommy's Special Day together and was prepared to lay on a thick supply of bribes to make it worth his while.
We did eat at IHOP for breakfast, which was a treat. And I did buy him his little birthday present at the teacher supply and awesome toy store, where I had to go anyway to get Gemma's handwriting book.
But after that, we came home and went downstairs to play and he was simply thrilled to have my attention for several hours. (He told me I couldn't do any laundry. Ha! If it's one thing that doesn't distract my attention from him, it's laundry. . . Clearly, he meant, "Don't work. Just play with me.")
It's like this for the kids who aren't born first, I think. With Gemma, there was no point in trying to do much else while she was awake because she had no distraction. But Joshua has always had a Gemma around to play with him.
I don't regret this. Who am I to argue with the physics of Birth Order? But I took this day together as God's reminder to me not to miss out on him. Gemma will go to a home school enrichment program every Tuesday for a full day of school, and instead of trying to knock out errands that day with Joshua in tow, I now think that we'll have a day together each week to enjoy.
It was especially fun to see him play for nearly 2 hours with a single toy--those plastic stacking pegs and rubbery-mats with peg holes in them. He has a great imagination that I hadn't noticed before.
***
Bryan had another load of bricks to move, and he offered Gemma $1 for every 10 small ones and $1 for every 6 big ones she carried.
Josh piped in, "For me, it's 1 for 5 small ones and 1 for every 2 big ones because I'm little."
Bryan and I both swiveled our heads towards him. Joshua The Negotiator.
***
Josh is into hugs. He is a very cuddly boy. A few weeks ago, he said, "I'm going to give you the biggest hug," and then he latched on.
He squeezed and squeezed and squeezed, the whole time saying, "Bigger than a house, bigger than a rocket, bigger than an elephant, bigger than the moon. . ."
Finally, he broke it off. Stepped back. Then spread his arms out in a ta-daa kind of pose and shouted, "That's the biggest hug!!!!"
***
While at the Burches for an overnight, he kept making mischief via the annoy-Gemma mode. (He has several modes of mischief-making. . . )
Amy, who was watching them, kept putting him into Time Out. After the third offense, she asked him, "Why do you keep being naughty after I have to put you into Time Out?"
He shrugged and said, 'I didn't make any promises.'
***
I started the summer off by giving a swim and diving report.
Both kids are now swimmers. Gemma is approaching what looks like the real free style. (Her arms have to get a bigger stroke...)
(What's that? How is my swimming coming? I can go from here to there with a flip turn without stopping. That's 50 yards, baby. I'm looking around for a good Fall-Winter swimming situation for the kids because Gemma wants to keep doing lessons and I figure I could swim while they did theirs.
One thing is for certain: I'll never be able to do 75 and then 100 and then 150 yards without actually being in the pool. There is no training like swimming training. And it's the best exercise I can do to rebuild my lung capacity, which was damaged by the radiation, so I'm especially motivated to get something set up. . .)
Joshua is a proficient doggy paddler, belly glider (e.g. face in the water, kicks his way to where he's headed) and back floater.
He is allowed to go off the diving board if I'm standing on the side to watch him. And by this point, he just walks right off the plank without hesitation.
The other day, he got the edge, stopped with his toes hanging over, tilted his head back and flipped his goggle up to peer over at me. Then he snapped the goggle back down and jumped off.
As he came up the ladder, he said, 'Did you see that? That was my Looking Dive.'
On the next one, he wiggled his arms around and then jumped. His Juggle Dive.
On the next one, he flapped his arms like a bird and then jumped. His Wing Dive.
In general, I was thinking that all of these were My Awesome Kid Dives.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Rodeo Days
I'd had one experience with the rodeo before last Thursday.
(And I like how it's referred to as "the" rodeo much the same as we say "the" circus, not "a" circus. Unless you're my father, who calls any given badly organized affair "a" "three-ring circus." But I have been to "a" three-ring circus and it was a model of precision performance. So. Take that, Dad.)
(And now I can hear him saying, "Don't get smart with me.")
My one experience with the rodeo before last Thursday happened on Sunday, November 23, 2003, beginning at about 1:00 AM when labor pains that eventually yielded Gemma had kicked into way high gear. I didn't wake Bryan up for them because I knew it would take an hour or two before they were close enough to warrant the trip to the hospital. (I don't think I am the only pregnant woman who harbored just one chief concern about giving birth--the one about being turned away from the hospital because you're not "far enough along.")
What is on television at 1:00 AM on a Sunday morning? The rodeo.
I watched some kind of riding. . . something that involved a huge animal bucking like crazy and I remember sympathizing with it instead of the cowboy. "You go, animal!" (And, in the midst of a contraction: "I wish I could buck my way out of this one!")
Two weeks ago, when the superheroes went to the Pikes Peak or Bust Rodeo, I paid a little more attention to the events. There was one singular conclusion to reach: The rodeo is a lot of crazy.
Not stupid. I would never fault a sport for being stupid. Hitting a ball with a piece of wood? Throwing a ball into a hoop? Hitting a ball again and again and again over huge swaths of lawn until you finally get it into a tiny cup? No. Stupid is fine with me. Stupid is the beginning of sport.
I'm talking crazy. At least, the riding events were. I hadn't realized that the rodeo features more than just bull riding, which is the sport whence the cowboy climbs aboard and stays on as long as he can, but with only one arm. Because. . . Because. . . Using two arms would be sissy-like?
It also features bronco riding, whence the cowboy climbs aboard either a bare-back or, in a different event, a saddle and then hangs on for eight seconds. Judges give him points on his style. Less than eight seconds on disqualifies him (and gets him booed, at least by audience members who knew more about the rodeo). More than eight seconds doesn't count for a thing.
What is he judged on? Dang. Who knows? Something about leaning back as far as he can on each buck, and kicking his legs in a certain time with each buck. If I were a chiropractor, I'd hand out my cards at the rodeo dressing rooms.
Here's the amazing part: After eight seconds, another cowboy who works for the rodeo rides alongside him and grabs him off the bucking bronco.
Carried off of your horse? For safety? Talk about sissy-like.
Hey rodeo: Keep your safety riders and let the cowboys get off the bronco on their own. Add the dismount to the points. Then you got yourself an interesting event!
Maybe these events when compared illustrate a truth that spreads past the rodeo: There are some trials you just have to hold on tight for and ride out for as long as you can however you can.
There are other trials that have a definite end and you try to ride them out with style.
Other portions dazzled. Dana Bowman parachuted in with the colors to kick us off. He was an active duty serviceman who became a paraplegic during a training sky dive. He recuperated. Figured out how to use his prosthetics and then re-enlisted. Now retired, he parachutes into various venues. He walked by our row and I teared up as I shook his hand and told him it was honor to meet him.
Then Joshua tripped him.
Total accident. One of those "didn't see the little tike" kind of things. Yep. That's my son . . .
The rodeo MC was impressive. He knew a ton about each competitor and his or her career and the horses and bulls they were riding. We heard so much about it because it was his job to fill the gaps between runs. Sure, color commentators do that for televised sports, but no one can see them, so they can use as many cheat sheets as they want.
This guy sat on his horse in the middle of the sideline with nothing but his cowboy gear and a headset microphone.
His shirt was pink, by the way. Because "Tough Guys Wear Pink" that night. Because it was breast cancer awareness night. Because--the day after my port removal--of course it was.
Gemma's favorite part was watching the Ranger-ettes ride in. They were a team of 30 or so cowgirls, all wearing satinny hot pink blouses and pink hats. It would be their job to charge the flag of the various sponsors around the arena between events. But when they first came out as a group and ran around in a little routine, their horses in full gallop, I found myself thinking, "Why am I not a cowgirl?"
(Because I'm a superhero instead!)
(Note on this, Joshua found one of our ParTAY invitations, which includes the graphic of a naval officer standing next to a super-heroine. He asked, "Are you like this for real, Mommy?"
"You mean, am I a superhero?"
"Yes."
"Yes, I am."
"You can't be! You don't even have a cape."
I wanted to explain to him that the cape stuff and the secret identity stuff--that's all Hollywood. But I'll wait until he's older.)
Joshua's favorite part was the barrel racing. I think he liked it because it was the one thing that made sense. Everyone knows what a race is and what it's for. Interesting that women do this event but men do not. Maybe because if men could, no one would choose to ride the back-breaking wild animals.
My favorite event was the team steer roping. Two cowboys would charge after a runaway steer. The first would lasso its horn, then the second would lasso it's rear leg. That was some good ropin'.
But each time a steer came charging out of the gate, I was cheering for it. And a few of them made it all the way across the arena to the far gate. You go, cow!
Bryan's favorite was calf roping. Why? "Lot of action. A lot of skill."
The overall family favorite, by far, was mutton bustin'.
I thought this was when children were sent to tackle sheep. No, no. It's when a child is suited up in a couple knee and elbow pads and a helmet, then placed on board a sheep, then set out like a bull or bronco rider.
The sheep kicks a lot, too.
And the kid hangs on for dear sweet life. Longest time wins.
Gemma and Joshua couldn't believe it. Then the MC announced the next competitor was a 6 year old girl. My daughter exclaimed, "That means I can do it! Can I do it next year???"
Sure!
Joshua's face trembled. He feared this would be another left-out-cus-yer-too-young moment. At which point the MC announced the next competitor was a 4 year old boy.
Josh's face lit up. Same question. Same answer. And I thought a) what kind of forms do the legal guardians have to sign for these kids? and b) I wonder if Mr. Colorado will let my kids practice mutton bustin' on his golden retriever. . .
We left before it was over, though it was late for the kids--9:30. They both stayed awake for the whole ride home. Another sign of how big they're getting.
*****
Epilogue:
That weekend, we went to Grand Lake. The next weekend (so, last week), we'd planned to visit our friend, Helen, up in Story, Wyoming. It was going to be a family trip.
But Amy Burch had been planning to take Gemma to the Renaissance Fair here in Larkspur. She'd even asked her friend to make Gemma a beautiful fairy costume so the three of them could go as fairies, and this was to be the last weekend for the Fair. So, could they have the kids for the weekend? Please?
Uh. Yeah.
The kids had a great time, of course. They spent all of Saturday at a Burch family reunion picnic. And Joshua got to spend a special time with Miss Betsy while Gemma went to the Fair on Sunday. It was a fairy tale come true for her.
It was a dream come true for me and Bryan. Story is a 7 hour trip away. A beautiful drive. Time to talk without interruption. We left Friday afternoon and began our return trip on Sunday morning, so it was a brief time. But it felt like we had all the time in the world.
Helen is doing well. She lives in an 1880's log cabin on a beautiful property. We chatted with her on Saturday morning, then walked across the street for lunch on an outdoor porch and chatted, then went to her sister's place and sat on her porch and chatted, then went back to Helen's yard and chatted, then all went to dinner and dined outside and chatted.
There are times when all you really want to do is enjoy good company, and that's just what we did. I found myself thinking of something Sister #1 had said around the time of what felt like another crappy hurdle to deal with--that she was looking forward to a time when I would just be able to enjoy my husband and my kids.
The season for that has been heaped upon us, I'd say.
(I should include: To get everyone to the restaurant for dinner included, for the sake of making things easy and because I felt a little adventurous, my climbing onto the back of Helen's sister's ATV. She toodles around the little town on that thing and it looks so fun.
As soon as we were on our way, it occurred to me that we weren't wearing helmets. And it didn't matter that we didn't pass a single car to or fro, or that she wasn't going fast, or that the restaurant was only 3 blocks away. I kept thinking, "If I endured 7 weeks of radiation only to die of stupidity, a lot of people are going to be pretty annoyed with me. . ."
But here I am. Thank You, Jesus, Whom I spent most of the ride praying to.)
So, yes. Good company.
On our drive home, we passed through Cheyenne, where "The Grand-daddy of 'Em All" rodeo was taking place. We skirted through at just the right time to avoid traffic, but the interstate did take us right past the arena.
I thought of all the riders inside. Some hanging on as long as they can. Some riding it out with style. It was a beautiful ride home.
(And I like how it's referred to as "the" rodeo much the same as we say "the" circus, not "a" circus. Unless you're my father, who calls any given badly organized affair "a" "three-ring circus." But I have been to "a" three-ring circus and it was a model of precision performance. So. Take that, Dad.)
(And now I can hear him saying, "Don't get smart with me.")
My one experience with the rodeo before last Thursday happened on Sunday, November 23, 2003, beginning at about 1:00 AM when labor pains that eventually yielded Gemma had kicked into way high gear. I didn't wake Bryan up for them because I knew it would take an hour or two before they were close enough to warrant the trip to the hospital. (I don't think I am the only pregnant woman who harbored just one chief concern about giving birth--the one about being turned away from the hospital because you're not "far enough along.")
What is on television at 1:00 AM on a Sunday morning? The rodeo.
I watched some kind of riding. . . something that involved a huge animal bucking like crazy and I remember sympathizing with it instead of the cowboy. "You go, animal!" (And, in the midst of a contraction: "I wish I could buck my way out of this one!")
Two weeks ago, when the superheroes went to the Pikes Peak or Bust Rodeo, I paid a little more attention to the events. There was one singular conclusion to reach: The rodeo is a lot of crazy.
Not stupid. I would never fault a sport for being stupid. Hitting a ball with a piece of wood? Throwing a ball into a hoop? Hitting a ball again and again and again over huge swaths of lawn until you finally get it into a tiny cup? No. Stupid is fine with me. Stupid is the beginning of sport.
I'm talking crazy. At least, the riding events were. I hadn't realized that the rodeo features more than just bull riding, which is the sport whence the cowboy climbs aboard and stays on as long as he can, but with only one arm. Because. . . Because. . . Using two arms would be sissy-like?
It also features bronco riding, whence the cowboy climbs aboard either a bare-back or, in a different event, a saddle and then hangs on for eight seconds. Judges give him points on his style. Less than eight seconds on disqualifies him (and gets him booed, at least by audience members who knew more about the rodeo). More than eight seconds doesn't count for a thing.
What is he judged on? Dang. Who knows? Something about leaning back as far as he can on each buck, and kicking his legs in a certain time with each buck. If I were a chiropractor, I'd hand out my cards at the rodeo dressing rooms.
Here's the amazing part: After eight seconds, another cowboy who works for the rodeo rides alongside him and grabs him off the bucking bronco.
Carried off of your horse? For safety? Talk about sissy-like.
Hey rodeo: Keep your safety riders and let the cowboys get off the bronco on their own. Add the dismount to the points. Then you got yourself an interesting event!
Maybe these events when compared illustrate a truth that spreads past the rodeo: There are some trials you just have to hold on tight for and ride out for as long as you can however you can.
There are other trials that have a definite end and you try to ride them out with style.
Other portions dazzled. Dana Bowman parachuted in with the colors to kick us off. He was an active duty serviceman who became a paraplegic during a training sky dive. He recuperated. Figured out how to use his prosthetics and then re-enlisted. Now retired, he parachutes into various venues. He walked by our row and I teared up as I shook his hand and told him it was honor to meet him.
Then Joshua tripped him.
Total accident. One of those "didn't see the little tike" kind of things. Yep. That's my son . . .
The rodeo MC was impressive. He knew a ton about each competitor and his or her career and the horses and bulls they were riding. We heard so much about it because it was his job to fill the gaps between runs. Sure, color commentators do that for televised sports, but no one can see them, so they can use as many cheat sheets as they want.
This guy sat on his horse in the middle of the sideline with nothing but his cowboy gear and a headset microphone.
His shirt was pink, by the way. Because "Tough Guys Wear Pink" that night. Because it was breast cancer awareness night. Because--the day after my port removal--of course it was.
Gemma's favorite part was watching the Ranger-ettes ride in. They were a team of 30 or so cowgirls, all wearing satinny hot pink blouses and pink hats. It would be their job to charge the flag of the various sponsors around the arena between events. But when they first came out as a group and ran around in a little routine, their horses in full gallop, I found myself thinking, "Why am I not a cowgirl?"
(Because I'm a superhero instead!)
(Note on this, Joshua found one of our ParTAY invitations, which includes the graphic of a naval officer standing next to a super-heroine. He asked, "Are you like this for real, Mommy?"
"You mean, am I a superhero?"
"Yes."
"Yes, I am."
"You can't be! You don't even have a cape."
I wanted to explain to him that the cape stuff and the secret identity stuff--that's all Hollywood. But I'll wait until he's older.)
Joshua's favorite part was the barrel racing. I think he liked it because it was the one thing that made sense. Everyone knows what a race is and what it's for. Interesting that women do this event but men do not. Maybe because if men could, no one would choose to ride the back-breaking wild animals.
My favorite event was the team steer roping. Two cowboys would charge after a runaway steer. The first would lasso its horn, then the second would lasso it's rear leg. That was some good ropin'.
But each time a steer came charging out of the gate, I was cheering for it. And a few of them made it all the way across the arena to the far gate. You go, cow!
Bryan's favorite was calf roping. Why? "Lot of action. A lot of skill."
The overall family favorite, by far, was mutton bustin'.
I thought this was when children were sent to tackle sheep. No, no. It's when a child is suited up in a couple knee and elbow pads and a helmet, then placed on board a sheep, then set out like a bull or bronco rider.
The sheep kicks a lot, too.
And the kid hangs on for dear sweet life. Longest time wins.
Gemma and Joshua couldn't believe it. Then the MC announced the next competitor was a 6 year old girl. My daughter exclaimed, "That means I can do it! Can I do it next year???"
Sure!
Joshua's face trembled. He feared this would be another left-out-cus-yer-too-young moment. At which point the MC announced the next competitor was a 4 year old boy.
Josh's face lit up. Same question. Same answer. And I thought a) what kind of forms do the legal guardians have to sign for these kids? and b) I wonder if Mr. Colorado will let my kids practice mutton bustin' on his golden retriever. . .
We left before it was over, though it was late for the kids--9:30. They both stayed awake for the whole ride home. Another sign of how big they're getting.
*****
Epilogue:
That weekend, we went to Grand Lake. The next weekend (so, last week), we'd planned to visit our friend, Helen, up in Story, Wyoming. It was going to be a family trip.
But Amy Burch had been planning to take Gemma to the Renaissance Fair here in Larkspur. She'd even asked her friend to make Gemma a beautiful fairy costume so the three of them could go as fairies, and this was to be the last weekend for the Fair. So, could they have the kids for the weekend? Please?
Uh. Yeah.
The kids had a great time, of course. They spent all of Saturday at a Burch family reunion picnic. And Joshua got to spend a special time with Miss Betsy while Gemma went to the Fair on Sunday. It was a fairy tale come true for her.
It was a dream come true for me and Bryan. Story is a 7 hour trip away. A beautiful drive. Time to talk without interruption. We left Friday afternoon and began our return trip on Sunday morning, so it was a brief time. But it felt like we had all the time in the world.
Helen is doing well. She lives in an 1880's log cabin on a beautiful property. We chatted with her on Saturday morning, then walked across the street for lunch on an outdoor porch and chatted, then went to her sister's place and sat on her porch and chatted, then went back to Helen's yard and chatted, then all went to dinner and dined outside and chatted.
There are times when all you really want to do is enjoy good company, and that's just what we did. I found myself thinking of something Sister #1 had said around the time of what felt like another crappy hurdle to deal with--that she was looking forward to a time when I would just be able to enjoy my husband and my kids.
The season for that has been heaped upon us, I'd say.
(I should include: To get everyone to the restaurant for dinner included, for the sake of making things easy and because I felt a little adventurous, my climbing onto the back of Helen's sister's ATV. She toodles around the little town on that thing and it looks so fun.
As soon as we were on our way, it occurred to me that we weren't wearing helmets. And it didn't matter that we didn't pass a single car to or fro, or that she wasn't going fast, or that the restaurant was only 3 blocks away. I kept thinking, "If I endured 7 weeks of radiation only to die of stupidity, a lot of people are going to be pretty annoyed with me. . ."
But here I am. Thank You, Jesus, Whom I spent most of the ride praying to.)
So, yes. Good company.
On our drive home, we passed through Cheyenne, where "The Grand-daddy of 'Em All" rodeo was taking place. We skirted through at just the right time to avoid traffic, but the interstate did take us right past the arena.
I thought of all the riders inside. Some hanging on as long as they can. Some riding it out with style. It was a beautiful ride home.
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